Petra K and the Blackhearts

by M Henderson Ellis

  But there was more to it. Lingering in the Goat Square, I heard stories of dragonka trading hands within the walls of Jozseftown. The rich were bringing their beasts and selling them to foreign traders or exchanging them for small quantities of kuna. Suddenly there were all these strangers in Jozseftown, carrying dragonka under their coats like illegal firearms. The Exchange still existed, it had just gone underground.

  I THOUGHT THAT PERHAPS if I hung out around the markets, I might spy the dark figure who had dropped Luma from the bridge. Nothing unusual happened the first night, but on the next evening, while I was pretending to look over some old shrunken beets, I saw a well-dressed man half-heartedly browsing the vegetables, looking embarrassed and awkward there in the ghetto. He stopped at a notoriously unscrupulous greengrocer, who handed the man a slip of paper, after the exchange of a few coins. Following this, the man consulted a map, then began to make his way down one of the dark causeways that extended from the Square like tentacles. Perhaps he could lead me to the source of the illegal dragonka trade.

  I followed the man, keeping to the shadows. His unfamiliarity of Jozseftown was obvious, as he kept stopping to consult the map. It was frustratingly slow, as I needed to get home to make my mother’s evening tea and check on Luma, who was nesting behind the shut door of my closet. Eventually, the man came to the address he was looking for and slipped inside the vestibule. It was the storefront of an abandoned pharmacy, the gilt letters peeled off by scavengers for their gold residue.

  I approached the dark building. The window was dusty, and I could not see in. I took a brave step toward the door, and was about to open it when I was surprised from behind. “Who’s that lurking about?” came a voice. I spun around. I was often accused of lurking, even when, in my opinion, I was merely strolling furtively. Though in this case I was definitely lurking.

  In front of me was Jasper, the biggest and meanest of the Blackhearts. He looked me up and down, as though unsure if I was for real or some mirage. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. His blonde hair flared from his head like a lick of fire. “I heard you were snooping around the Exchange as well when the Boot raided the place.”

  “Don’t look at me like that. I … I am on your side,” I said, unsure of what I meant.

  “It doesn’t matter which side you are on. In fact, it is better if you are working for the Boot. You may have the others fooled, but I know who you are. I see through you. And you are dangerous,” Jasper said.

  Jasper brushed past me and entered the pharmacy. I heard the sound of a lock being fastened behind him. I didn’t know how to respond. What can you say when somebody states your worst fears about yourself?

  I ARRIVED HOME LATE; the smoky smell of my mother’s tea hung in the hallway as I entered. Had she prepared it herself? That would have been real progress. I breezed into her bedroom without knocking to discover that she wasn’t alone. She was surrounded by Boot officers. No, they weren’t exactly officers. It took me a few moments to believe my eyes: there was Tatiana, Lenka, Bianka, Margo, and Sonia all dressed in Boot uniforms, sitting around her as though visiting a much-loved, or dying, relative in the hospital. They turned toward me, their faces displaying a strained expectation, as though I was a party guest whom everybody had been waiting on just a little too long.

  “My, my,” Tatiana said, looking me over. “Who do we have here? That school uniform is very last month,” she said, with a wink that just might have been playful. Could it be Tatiana actually missed me? Now that I had a chance to take them in, I could see that it was not actually a Boot uniform they wore, but the uniform of the Boot Youth Guard, as evinced by a patch each wore on their arm. Gone were the gem-studded bracelets and blackpearl necklaces. Instead, each girl had a pin ornamented with a golden eye stuck to her jacket lapel. But even in this stiff uniform, Tatiana looked fashionable. She just had that way about her.

  “Petra,” said my mother, suddenly alert, or perhaps, afraid, “your friends stopped by to say hello.”

  “Where have you been?” Tatiana continued. “You are going to have to start the program from the beginning, but maybe when you catch up, they will put you in our troop.”

  “What troop?” I asked. “What program?”

  “After we were cured of the fever, we were put in the Youth Guard Facility to recuperate.”

  “But what about your parents? What about your dragonka?”

  “Dragonka! Ha!” said Sonia disdainfully. “Rats of the sky.”

  “Perfect them by and by,” the others chimed in unison, as though it was a poem they had been taught to recite.

  “What are they teaching you there?” I said, perhaps a bit too incredulously.

  “The truth!” exclaimed Lenka, with an uncharacteristic zeal for learning.

  “The teachings of the Number One Play Pal,” said Sonia.

  “What is that?”

  “Archibald. Number One Play Pal. We are learning the rules of the game,” Margo said.

  “Fair and square,” said Sonia.

  “No dragonka there!” the others rejoined.

  I swallowed, though my mouth was dry. These were not the girls I had known from the Pava School. No—they were—only there was a blankness to their eyes, and their words came mechanically, as though they were part automaton.

  “Where is Zsofia?” I ventured.

  “What, you didn’t hear?” Lenka said, suddenly springing to life.

  “Shhhh …” hissed Tatiana. “Zsofia—”

  “You can come with us now,” said Tatiana. “We have a bunk for you and everything.”

  “Besides,” Lenka commented, “your mother tells us she can’t even afford to feed you anymore, now that all her money was lost in the closing of the Dragonka Exchange.”

  I looked at my mother; she averted her eyes and took a sip of tea. It was true that she hadn’t given me money for food in many days, and we had but scraps remaining in the cupboards. Even worse, I was concealing the fact that I had picked fruit from a garbage bin by Goat Square Market to feed myself.

  “And,” said Sonia, redirecting my attention, “your mother said it was OK if you came.”

  I looked at mother again, but her face revealed nothing. She had her tea and her bed.

  “OK! I’ll be right back,” I said, with forced cheer. “I need to pack.”

  “I’ll go with you,” said Margo.

  “No,” I said, perhaps too quickly. “My room is a mess. I’ll just be a minute.”

  “Don’t be too long, Strangeling,” said Tatiana with her trademark wink. She was the only girl who could make a wink look threatening.

  I dashed up to my room and began to pack: I tucked Luma into his burlap sack; I grabbed a handful of sunflower seeds for food, and slid out my attic window. It was the first time I had escaped my room in the daylight, but aside from the few doves I scattered from the window sill, nobody took notice of me as I scaled the house’s façade.

  I disappeared into the streets of Jozseftown, questions swarming about my mind. What were my classmates doing in the Youth Guard? Why their sudden hatred of the dragonka? Why had they come to find me? More importantly, how long would I have to wait before I could go home? I unexpectedly felt envy for the Blackhearts. They had no parent to answer to. They knew how to get by on their own.

  I WANDERED UNTIL IT WAS DARK. I was hungry again. I would have to pick through the over-ripe and damaged fruit the vendors left behind at the end of the day if I wanted to eat. But quickly I realized that I was not the only one with this idea. Other figures, ghoulish and pale, were furtively poking through the bins, coming back with half-eaten morsels. I found a promising looking bin in a remote corner of the food market and began to rifle through its contents, coming up with a still-edible cauliflower, a handful of quinces, and a packet of poppy seeds.

  Then—from nowhere—a voice emerged from the darkness.

  “Did you find anything good?” It was a small child, hiding in the shadows.

  I rummaged ar
ound in my bag and found a ripe quince, then passed it into the shadows. The hand reached out and accepted the food. I heard a quiet munching come from the darkness, then silence.

  “Thank you,” came the meek voice.

  “You’re welcome,” I said. I was about to ask the child who he was (the truth is there were more and more orphaned children seen in Jozseftown these days), when I spotted Abel across the square. But I restrained myself from shouting out to him. There was something sly in his movements, like he didn’t want to be seen.

  “I have to go now,” I said to the child in the darkness, and started after the Blackheart. Abel was, I can say, sneaky as a cat. He seemed to disappear in shadows, then reappear on the other side of the street altogether. But I managed to keep up, and soon enough we were at Goat Square. Abel slunk along the storefronts, then, after looking around, pulled the door to the Dragonka Exchange open and slipped inside.

  Maybe my curiosity got the better of me, maybe I just wanted to prove I was a better sneak than any Blackheart, but I followed him. At the Exchange’s door, I noticed the nails to the boards the Boot had shuttered the entrance with had been pried loose, and replaced with hinges, so that it still looked closed. The Exchange was still being used—but what for?

  I was intent on investigating, but Luma was growing more restless under my coat. Something was exciting him. In the entrance hall I tried to hush him, but suddenly there was no controlling the creature: Luma burst from my grasp, and sprinted toward the doors that led to the courtyard. He began scratching at the wood. Before I could grab him, those huge wooden doors cracked open, and Luma dashed through. I moved quickly, but was immediately drawn up short by what I saw there. The courtyard was packed with people: dozens, if not a hundred spectators were standing in a circle, cheering. At the center of the ring I could see two dragonka pups prancing around in circles, as though they were chasing each other’s tails. And, it turned out, that is exactly what they were doing: circling pylons in order to overtake the other, then administer a bite on their opponent’s tail, ending the race.

  “Welcome to the League of the Maiden and Minor Pup,” said Abel, who had materialized behind me. “Not sanctioned, highly illegal, but you can make a lot of money here. Come on, let’s watch the races!”

  “But Luma,” I began.

  “He is safe here,” said Abel.

  I followed Abel deeper into the room. Nobody took any notice of us as we pushed our way to the front of the crowd. The audience was composed of all stripe of Pavain. There were black-clad, bearded Zsida sharing a bottle of red wine, arms around each other and loudly cheering on their favored dragonka; there were Half Not gangs issuing bets. Some in the audience had come in formal dress, and there was more than one anonymous, masked observer. I could see the other Blackhearts too: Isobel and Jasper, as well as a few members of the Big Thumb Devils and Stink Clovers, pitting their dragonka against one another.

  “I don’t have to tell you that this is a secret,” said Abel.

  “I’m good with secrets,” I replied.

  “I know,” said Abel. “That’s why I let you follow me.”

  “What is this?”

  “Different things to different people, I guess,” he said. “Dragonka breeding is just in our blood here. You can’t post some stupid sign and expect people not to show off what they’ve got. Then there are the Half Nots. If you gave them good enough odds, they would bet the sun wouldn’t come up in the morning. So there is money in it. Some of these people are foreign scouts who want to take our stock while the price is cheap. Plus, it’s good for the dragonka. They need the attention. Without a chance to be seen and fawned over, they either mope about or start raiding the markets for food.”

  “And what is it to you?” I asked, though I really wanted to ask what it was to me.

  “It’s a laugh,” he said. “Something to do. We are laying off on the potions for a bit while Deklyn works his new plan out, so it gets kind of boring around town.”

  “But aren’t you afraid of the Boot?”

  “Naw, they’d never come into Jozseftown at night. Too dangerous. Plus, we’re careful.”

  “Yeah,” I said, though I had stopped listening. I was keeping my eye out for Luma, whom I still couldn’t spot. “I shouldn’t be here, should I?” I said, suddenly apprehensive.

  “No. It is totally unacceptable. But no need to worry. If anybody asks, just say you’re with me, Abel Blackheart,” he said, throwing open his shirt, revealing the black heart tattoo.

  “Do you guys always have to go off showing your silly tattoos to everybody?”

  “Silly?” Abel said. “Deklyn inked this into me with his own hand. This has the ancient charm of pure Pavaian River clay mixed into it. That’s how I knew you were following me through Jozseftown. I can tell trouble from a mile away.”

  “I am trouble?” I asked, half-offended, half-proud.

  “The worst sort,” said Abel. “But I don’t mind.”

  I needed to find Luma, but before I could search further, I was interrupted by a commotion on the floor. The two racing dragonka had gotten into a fight after the winner nipped the loser’s tail with too much enthusiasm. Soon they were a tumbling ball, whirling around the room, a blur of fangs and scales into which nobody dared intervene. This caused another sudden wave of betting, this time on the results of the fight. I watched the brawling dragonka spill into the spectators and the crowd surge back. To distract the audience a Half Not band started up, playing on spoons and blowing jugs. A troop of Sibernian soldiers began dancing a high step, and some celebrants took the opportunity to settle old scores—I saw a pocket picked, a cup of mead poured over a woman’s head, and more than one fistfight break out; and for a few minutes the room was pure chaos, like a wedding party that had been overrun by a riot.

  Suddenly, the audience regrouped, as another competition had begun, and the issue of betting needed to get underway. I was pushed into the midst of the crowd, and was beginning to panic because there was no sign of Luma anywhere. But the ferocity of the spectators’ cheering retrained my attentions to the pit and the two dragonka racing around it. It took me a moment to believe what I was seeing: Luma was one of the racing dragonka. And from the looks of it, he was winning.

  I SHOVED MY WAY TO THE FIRST ROW, all the way up to the perimeter of the pit. Luma was moving quickly as a ferret around the ring, chasing the tail of a dragonka pup that looked like a squat lizard, its tongue hanging from the side of its mouth in fatigue. It was not long before Luma inflicted his bite on the other beast, which let out a high-pitched whimper before scampering from the pit. There was a collective groan from the crowd, as it seemed Luma had been heavily bet against. I noticed only a few cheers, the loudest being from one of the Blackhearts. There I saw Deklyn collecting a purse of kuna from the Half Not bookmaker.

  I pushed my way over to him. As I did, a Half Not attendant delivered my panting dragonka to Deklyn’s arms. The Blackheart held Luma, stroking him behind his ears. I immediately felt an anger rise in me. When Luma sensed me there, he immediately fluttered from Deklyn back into my arms.

  “What are you trying to do?” I yelled over the noise.

  “What do you mean?” he replied casually, tossing his bag of coins from hand to hand.

  “With my drangonka? With Luma!”

  “Luma,” said Deklyn, trying the name out on his tongue. “I like the name, maybe we will even keep it.”

  “You will keep it?” I was so angry that my words sputtered like a misfiring engine.

  “This creature never belonged to you. I don’t know where you got it from, but it’s not yours. I asked around after we saw you,” he said, reaching into his pouch. “Have a few kuna for your trouble.” But I knocked the brass kuna from his hand.

  “He belongs to me,” I shot back.

  “You? You can’t even take care of yourself. And see how lean Luma is? That is not right. Even a racing dragonka needs a little fat to fire his breath with. You haven’t even trai
ned the beast to do anything.”

  Deklyn was right. And though I could barely feed the both of us, I would find a way. But I wasn’t going to admit that. Not to him. We both fumed at each other for a few silent, unhappy moments before the Half Not girl spoke.

  “Stop it!” Isobel commanded, stepping between us. “It is obvious that we need each other. Listen,” she said, turning to me, “we need a beast of trainable age. There just aren’t many left, with all the quarantines and confiscations. And you, well, you need to survive. Deklyn is right. We know all about you, and your mother, and we have seen you hitting the bins at night. You might survive, but the dragonka can’t. Not on picked-over corncobs and stale poppy buns. Luma obviously belongs to you. That much anybody can see. Nothing will change that. But we can be partners in his training and share his winnings.” She turned to Deklyn. “That means cooperating.”

  Deklyn grunted something I could only take as grudging acknowledgement. “She is Luma’s master, but we all have to take care of him, if,” she said, grabbing the pouch of money from Deklyn’s hands, “if this is going to continue.” One thing I noticed right then was that when Isobel spoke, Deklyn listened. “Plus,” she continued, “the Boot has been looking for our lair for weeks now. It is only a matter of time before they find it. The beast will be well-hidden in Petra K’s.”

  “OK, OK already,” Deklyn said. “But she has no idea how to train a dragonka. That is where we will start.”

  “You can talk to me,” I said. “I’m right here.”

  He turned toward me as though I was some sort of night-sprouting fungi that had popped up without warning. “You have no idea how to train a dragonka, and you have no idea what you are getting yourself into.”